


Washington's Staff

by ghostburr



Category: Amrev - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 02:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6177025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostburr/pseuds/ghostburr





	Washington's Staff

There were many reasons why Little Burr hated being on Washington’s staff.  

The dull work was the first. Why should he, someone who had seen the ravages of a real war–who had looked death in the face–be saddled with a clerk’s work? And to add insult to injury, clerk’s work under a man who couldn’t string together a sentence of common English with out the help of his aides?  
Chatter from the adjoining room shook him from his thoughts; a strange, melodious accent, indicative of the tropics, thought Aaron. 

Ahh yes–that Aide. 

He dipped his quill in the ink before him and chuckled softly. 

The second reason was the General himself. Perhaps the work would not be so tediously insulting were he clerking under someone like Putnam. Or even Arnold. But not Washington. 

The other reason was the company. He was not a person who had difficulty making friends. Indeed, he prided himself on his ability to make friends anywhere and everywhere, among all walks of men. But something here…something in this place made him feel alone. Like an outsider. 

Scratching little black letters on the parchment, the accented voice hit his ears again. He wondered what it would be like to grow up in a tropical paradise. His mind reminisced to the first time he had seen Little Hamilton: so small and bright. He must have been seventeen.

The voice jarred him from his work and prompted Aaron to investigate. Walking from his desk into the adjoining room, he remembered listening to stories as a boy: stories of another child, very much like him, that was so smart he was allowed to leave his island and come to the United States. 

He wrote things…what sort of things? Little Burr struggled to remember the stories Reverend Knox had related to his dour, unimpressed family.

He was a little mathematician. Oh, and he composed hymns.

No, there was something else.

Poems! He wrote poetry. 

Yes. That was it. 

Reaching the other room Aaron stopped. There were two voices inside, one deeper than the other. Annoyed, he pushed the door just an inch to view the men inside; he prepared to give them a lecture on the virtues of silence. After all, how was he supposed to finish these undeniably important notes when there was distracting chatter? He peeked cautiously through the crack.

His eyes were met with an improbable scene. Surely this was a joke. Aaron’s heart raced and color flooded his face–he was not often surprised but today was an exception. Before him sat one of the other aides.

Colonel Laurens? Was that his name? Who is on his lap?

He covered his mouth to keep from gasping. 

Little Hamilton?

Straining, he tried to hear their distinct words. Tried to figure out what in God’s name they were doing. His thoughts were again interrupted by the kiss planted on Colonel Laurens’ mouth, given by the little Nevisian. 

Aaron flushed deeper. He should not be watching this. He looked away, embarrassed, and made to leave back down the hallway he’d come.

Something stopped him. He placed a hand against the tent wall and thought for a moment. Maybe it was a game. Maybe he’d seen things incorrectly. Little Burr exhaled, closed his eyes, and looked again. 

A gentle kiss turned into a deeper one. Alexander straddled across Colonel Laurens’ lap, grabbing his hair like a woman and her lover, the latter man stroking the smaller soldier’s back. 

Little Burr felt his confusion and embarrassment turn into something darker. His browns furrowed, and he craned his neck slightly to get a better view through the slit in the cloth. He tried to place the new feeling welling up inside his chest: indignation, pity. And another one…misplaced and better left unsaid. He looked down at his ink stained fingertips. This time last year they were stained with blood.

“And now, here I am, locked in an office while my comrades die around me, shuffling papers, while–” he whispered to himself quietly, unable to finish his thought. 

Another kiss, this time accompanied by a louder moan, caused the dark-eyed soldier to step back. He should not be seeing this. Men were court-marshaled–men were hanged–on lesser charges. This was not a place to find love in the arms comrades. This was not a place for romance.

Little Burr clenched his fist, every second in front of this scene making him grow more and more furious, “We are fighting a war for our very survival and this fool is living like a newlywed bride.”

At that moment, a surge of anger hot and undefined coursed through his veins as to make Aaron want to push through the door, hurling insults. His breathing became heavy and his cheeks hotter still.  

The larger man stood to leave after Little Hamilton dismounted with one final, drawn-out kiss. The spying soldier watched as the held each other’s hands, the taller man kissing Little Hamilton’s, then letting it linger at his lips, as if saying goodbye. In an instant Burr froze in place. He frantically looked around him for a place to retreat to, lamenting those rapid blue eyes that noticed everything.  
Footsteps approached him quickly and he struggled to find something to do; something that would make it appear he had only just arrived on the scene. Something to disguise the fact that he’d seen too much.

The door cracked open and Aaron pretended to pick something up off the ground, his back to the Nevisian.

“Oh!” Alexander’s voice was thick with warmth.  

“Good afternoon, Officer Hamilton. I hope I wasn’t disturbing you.” Aaron bit the inside of his cheek, and swallowed his pride.  

The other man smiled brilliantly, his previous amour still alight on his face, “No, not at all. I was just coming to see you, in fact. To see if you had finished those reports. Dull work, I know,” Hamilton nodded towards Aaron’s ink stained hands, “but necessary.”

Another smile, and he stepped closer. Aaron could smell the other man on him. Reaching out, Alexander grabbed one of the blackened hands and held it in his own, flirtatiously. 

“You are good to bear these things with such grace, Little Burr. I know how much you would rather be in the field,” he muttered.

Trying not to remember the scene he had just witnessed, Aaron pretended stoic gratitude, “I am a soldier. I simply do what I am told.”  

The words felt leaden and fake; the dark-eyed soldier felt his hand grow hot, then moist, in Little Hamilton’s grip, and began to wish he’d never left the stuffy, boring desk.

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost, Officer,” Alexander interrupted the other man’s thoughts. He stepped closer still and planted a delicate kiss on the other man’s hot cheek. Aaron’s stomach sank; Alexander’s whispers hit his ear and sent shivers down his spine.  

“Little Burr…get back to work.”

The bright-cheeked Nevisian stepped back and grinned triumphantly at him, then laughed and brushed past him. Aaron turned to watch his fellow officer walk away, the secret meeting he had just witnessed burning a licentious hole in his mind. 

Yes, there were many reasons why Little Burr hated being on Washington’s staff.


End file.
